Every year, she took the same steps to the cemetery, holding the same ashy black hand in hers. It became a tradition to visit the Vanhoop gravestones on the same day and at the same hour every year. Although Zara was never told the details of why they were standing there, or why Clove's fluted ears trembled at the sight of the stone graves. Nobody was. Only one other person knew the truth of what had happened, and Clove was more than content with that.
Clove's dark chocolate brown eyes met bright violet's. She's grown so much that she can now walk on her own and speak sentences that are nearly completely coherent. Every month, Zara looked and acted more like the man she still loved and the woman Clove once was. A Jedi Knight, a powerful healer, and a doctor, laughter in the dark. Somebody so incredibly alive.
But who was she now?
To the rest of the world, she was a loving mother. Every waking moment was spent thinking about Zara, her light, her brilliance. To Altair, she was a neverending flood of pictures, updates on the girl, ever-changing lists of gift ideas for her birthday and other celebrations and polite conversations. But if you took away Zara, Altair, and even her two friends, what would be left? A woman passionately helping animals? No, hardly. She was a shell, a faded memory.
Her gaze shifted away from the violet and toward the grey sky ahead. It's been a long time since she's seen color, since she's remembered how to be happy. Ever since she felt the Force leave her body she felt blinded, desentized. Every second she spent alone brought back the darkness, the hollowed pit in her stomach sucking in everything bright.
No.
This wasn't living. And she promised Altair she'd be better. Promised everyone Zara's life would never be in danger, never be at risk. Promised Arctus and Ruz they could stop worrying.
Clove looked down at her pale hand holding a green stem, the skin almost translucent, the brightly colored lightsaber inked into her wrist. A hand that felt completely useless in the absence of the Force. Crix's lessons, all gone. No, she'd try, she had to try, to remember how to be happy again. To feel the Force once more flow through her body. To find a purpose; to figure out what she was made for. For Zara's sake, for them. But most importantly, for herself.
Clove knelt on the ground and placed the white flower on top of the grave. The little half-Tiefling joined her, laying down her own flower that she had picked herself, though after holding it in her hand tightly, the flower had lost almost all of its petals. Clove traced one of the last remaining petals as she listened to Zara excitedly talk against the gravestone about what she'd learned in class today. As if she were a granddaughter talking bubbly to her grandmother.
When Clove realized the girl had run out of things to say, she picked Zara up in her arms and gently pressed her finger against the child's tiny button nose. "Should we visit Papa? Perhaps you can convince him to bake you a pie." She gave the girl a faint smile. Clove took one last look at the gravestones, her gaze lingering, before standing up and walking toward the shuttle.
Clove's dark chocolate brown eyes met bright violet's. She's grown so much that she can now walk on her own and speak sentences that are nearly completely coherent. Every month, Zara looked and acted more like the man she still loved and the woman Clove once was. A Jedi Knight, a powerful healer, and a doctor, laughter in the dark. Somebody so incredibly alive.
But who was she now?
To the rest of the world, she was a loving mother. Every waking moment was spent thinking about Zara, her light, her brilliance. To Altair, she was a neverending flood of pictures, updates on the girl, ever-changing lists of gift ideas for her birthday and other celebrations and polite conversations. But if you took away Zara, Altair, and even her two friends, what would be left? A woman passionately helping animals? No, hardly. She was a shell, a faded memory.
Her gaze shifted away from the violet and toward the grey sky ahead. It's been a long time since she's seen color, since she's remembered how to be happy. Ever since she felt the Force leave her body she felt blinded, desentized. Every second she spent alone brought back the darkness, the hollowed pit in her stomach sucking in everything bright.
No.
This wasn't living. And she promised Altair she'd be better. Promised everyone Zara's life would never be in danger, never be at risk. Promised Arctus and Ruz they could stop worrying.
Clove looked down at her pale hand holding a green stem, the skin almost translucent, the brightly colored lightsaber inked into her wrist. A hand that felt completely useless in the absence of the Force. Crix's lessons, all gone. No, she'd try, she had to try, to remember how to be happy again. To feel the Force once more flow through her body. To find a purpose; to figure out what she was made for. For Zara's sake, for them. But most importantly, for herself.
Clove knelt on the ground and placed the white flower on top of the grave. The little half-Tiefling joined her, laying down her own flower that she had picked herself, though after holding it in her hand tightly, the flower had lost almost all of its petals. Clove traced one of the last remaining petals as she listened to Zara excitedly talk against the gravestone about what she'd learned in class today. As if she were a granddaughter talking bubbly to her grandmother.
When Clove realized the girl had run out of things to say, she picked Zara up in her arms and gently pressed her finger against the child's tiny button nose. "Should we visit Papa? Perhaps you can convince him to bake you a pie." She gave the girl a faint smile. Clove took one last look at the gravestones, her gaze lingering, before standing up and walking toward the shuttle.
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